Dangerous
by Roxy Rosee
Summary: Shane meant to kill Rick. He had every intention to. But when he falters at the last minute and Rick stabs him anyways, Shane ends up stumbling bloody through the woods, desperate for help. Shane/OC (Prompt fill for sweetkiwi604!)


_**From a prompt I got from sweetkiwi604. Enjoy!**_

**Dangerous**

Shane woke up with a jolt, immediately reaching for his gun and grunting in frustration when he realized his hands were cuffed to the headboard above him.

"Rick?" he tried to rasp, scowling when his voice sounded like a punched-out echo of the confident drawl he usually wore.

It came back to him in waves. Lori. Carl. Leading Rick out into those woods with the intent to kill, and then faltering at the last moment. The moment he realized he couldn't pull the trigger, just _couldn't._ Inching closer, gun drooping in his hand as his resolve wavered. That moment he'd thought that Rick was standing down, that his brother finally understood that he'd never meant for any of this to happen. That it had all just gone fucked, and the more Rick pushed him away, tried to make him into something he wasn't, the more Shane hated him for it.

It was a good moment, the kind he would have tried to hold onto for longer, if not for what had come next. That searing sting in his side. Rick's shouts of how this was _his _fault. And then, nothing.

After the memories, the pain came next. Shane gasped and then whimpered, actually fucking whimpered out a sound that he'd never make under less dire circumstances. Because it wasn't just the vibrating ache of an open wound that was ailing him. The sharp gash had been pried wider, held open with clamps. Metal tools prodded inside him, every small movement its own brief stay in hell, and Jesus, he was crying now too. Shane couldn't even remember the last time he'd done that. He came close when Rick was shot...maybe back when he was young. Back before all the expectations and grief.

Shane realized he was spewing out cracked, half-incoherent words.

"Please, stop. God, please stop. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please. I'll do whatever you want...I'll...anything...please..."

Though for all his begging, the ex-cop neither fought against the restraints nor writhed about in pain. He took it all, motionlessly, perhaps because he had to but probably because he believed he deserved it.

_I'm dead_, he thought idly, _this is my punishment._

But then a voice that was anything but hellish broke through his fugue, "Shh, you're alright. I'm almost done. Almost done, I promise."

It was a woman speaking in a tone melodic and soft, cooing to him in a near-song as he continued to sob and plead miserably. But knowing that someone else was there, and that this wouldn't be some infinite loop of pain, at least allowed Shane the presence of mind to think. His pleads became questions that he couldn't get out in their entirety.

"What's...what's happening...where...?"

And he hated how his voice came out as some wavering whine, nothing of the person he used to be. But if he was being really honest, he'd never been this scared before. Not when the dead began to rise, or when Rick went down that first time, or when the CDC had blown or even when that herd had cornered him back at the high school. All those times he'd been driven by adrenaline and purpose. But rendered helpless and ignorant, forced to endure whatever the hell this was, Shane knew his whole body was shaking from the fear as well as the pain. He tried to focus on the woman's words.

"Everything's going to be fine, okay? Just need to stitch you up now, the worst is over," she murmured, and Shane wanted so badly to believe her. The prodding had ceased, now replaced with an intermittent nip of what he thought might be a needle. He felt the skin around the wound pull taut. "You're safe here. You did so well, I know you must be tired. You can sleep, alright? You're safe."

With the sting quickly dulling, and the fear seeping out of his bones, Shane found it pretty easy to comply. He fell back asleep just as he realized that he'd never managed to open his eyes.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

When Shane awoke next, he was only half-coherent and the room was dark aside from a candle burning in the corner. He craned his neck to survey his surroundings for the first time. Upon first inspection, it appeared as if he were in some sort of cabin. Straining, he didn't manage to identify any of the telltale noises of the dead or the living. And he figured he must be pretty far out in the woods for the chirp of crickets and howls of other wildlife to be this loud and resonant.

He noticed next that instead of being hooked to the bed, his hands had been bound together in a single set of cuffs, sitting on his chest. As he struggled to roll to his side, gasping at the sharp rupture of pain, there was movement from the other side of the room and suddenly the woman from before appeared next to him.

"Woah, just go slow, okay?" she gently scolded him.

"I...I n-need—" Shane coughed, before the girl cut him off with a tut.

"I know what you need," she placated, and finally helped him to sit up properly. Immediately, she held a glass of cool water to his lips and he lapped at it gratefully, groaning in relief.

"Not too fast," the woman said, placing the half-full glass down on the bedside table. "You're dehydrated. If you try to rehydrate too quickly, it'll make you sick."

He eyed her skeptically, "You a doctor or somethin'?"

"I was an EMT."

Shane's eyes swept over the girl in front of him. She was beautiful by any man's standards, with light hair and pale features and green speckled eyes to match. The white tank top she was wearing displayed a pleasing amount of skin, but Shane caught himself before he let his eyes wander too far south.

He swallowed thickly. "Where are we?"

"A cabin in the woods," the girl vaguely replied.

"Yeah I got that much," Shane spat back heatedly, "You gonna be any more specific sweetheart?"

"You don't remember anything, huh?" the girl asked slowly, face betraying nothing but mild amusement.

Shane frowned deeply at the area of blanket between them, confirming her suspicions.

"I found you stumbling through the woods," she explained, "With a pretty gigantic herd on your tail. Stab wound. You saw me and ran right at me; you're pretty lucky I didn't shoot you on the spot. But then, you asked me for help. So I helped you."

Shane felt the momentary rush of anger dissipate, replaced by sour distress. "You shouldn't have."

"What-?"

"You shoulda left me there," Shane cut her off. "And the fact that you didn't means you ain't nearly as smart as you play yourself off to be."

The girl's thin smile fell crookedly, but she didn't flinch. "I wish I had some oxy, or even Tylenol at this point, but the towns I've been through the past few weeks were pretty sparse. Sleep will probably be the best thing," she said before smoothly standing and making her way towards the door.

Her sudden absence brought on a stab of panic, and Shane called out to her, "Wait!"

She turned to look at him from the doorway.

His eyes darted around the room, trying to extrapolate from the walls some reason for his outburst. After a moment, he asked, "What's your name?"

"Melanie," she said softly, and she was giving him a small smile, an olive branch.

"I'm Shane," he offered, feeling like a teenage boy, trying and failing at maintaining a conversation with his crush.

"It's nice to meet you, Shane," she said, "Try to get some sleep. I won't be gone long."

Somehow, that last comment put him at ease, and when the girl shut the door gently in her wake, Shane did as she said and burrowed down in the blankets. He slept dreamlessly, for the first time in weeks.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It was three days of near-constant pain. Any small movement, as minute as a deep breath, would propagate it. And though Shane would never admit it aloud, the only thing that seemed to ease the constant ache was when Melanie was nearby. She'd sit and read in a chair by the edge of his bed, often humming to herself. And she didn't seem to mind that all Shane did these days was watch her.

There had to be something wrong with the girl, to pick up an absolute stranger, injured no less, and allow him into her home. If this was her home, that is. But the more he observed her, the more Shane realized that she was acutely normal. She washed clothes and cooked and walked the perimeter and cared for him tirelessly. She was good, much too good to be wasting time on the likes of him.

Though that being said, she never did un-cuff him. And Shane couldn't much decide if that relieved or infuriated him.

On the third night, she rose abruptly from her chair and came to sit on the edge of the bed. She leaned past him and opened the door of the bedside table, pulling out a small silver key. He huffed out a laugh incredulously, realizing he'd never bothered to look there, in all the time she'd left him to his own devices.

"I want to un-cuff you," Melanie said slowly, "But I need to know I can trust you first."

His eyes darkened. "You can't."

"Shane..." she sighed, seeming exasperated but not nearly as alert as she should have been.

"I'll fucking hurt you," Shane suddenly growled, "You should have left me to die. Never shoulda brought me here. I'm dangerous."

His tone grew increasingly forceful, but to Melanie, it sounded desperate. Keeping his eye, she brought the key down to his lap where his hands lay and unlocked the cuffs, slipping them off of his wrists.

"I'll hurt you," Shane said again, but it sounded more like an excuse than a threat.

Melanie took one of his hands in her own and examined it, running her fingertips over the calloused skin in contemplation. "Okay," she said finally, "Hurt me."

She heard the moment he stopped breathing, body going tight as he clenched his eyes shut.

"I _will_," he insisted, but all the bite in his words was gone. Mostly, Shane sounded tired, so very tired of holding up whatever mask he'd painted for himself weeks or months or years before.

Melanie pulled his hand to her neck, and made him wrap his fingers around the soft skin. For a brief second, his hand clenched like he was forcing it. But then Shane seemed to allow whatever demons he was battling take hold, because his hand went slack against her, fingers carefully caressing the spot where neck met shoulder. He watched his own hand like it wasn't a part of his body.

"Who told you that you were dangerous?" Melanie murmured, and Shane wouldn't meet her gaze. She moved inches closer to him, gently petting his arm.

"I just am," he insisted, rather than responding to her question.

"Do you want to know why I really brought you here?" Melanie suddenly asked him. "The night I found you, you saved my life Shane. You asked me for help, and there was a walker behind me and I never would have heard it in time. But then you threw yourself between it and me, without a weapon no less. The only reason you aren't dead is that I'm quick on my feet. But that's how I knew I could trust you. Because half-dead and delirious, you still risked your life for someone you didn't know. Whoever called you dangerous...they just didn't get to see you like that. They didn't see the whole picture."

Shane glared down at her hand in his lap, and anyone could see that he didn't believe her. So instead of prompting him to respond, she gently pushed him back until he was laying on his good side, and reminded him that sleep was the best thing for him, at this point.

He lay with his body curled around the space where she'd sat, watching her drowsily as she began to read again.

"Shouldn't be doing this," Shane eventually whispered. "Helping me. It's wrong."

"I want to."

"…why?"

"Not because I think I owe it to you, if that's what you're getting at. I guess…there just isn't much to do nowadays but help the people who deserve it."

"I don't…deserve it. Don't deserve shit."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said softly, and Shane finally drifted off.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

It took another week before Shane could manage to spend the majority of the day conscious, and walk around the house without Melanie propped under his armpit. They got into a routine of sorts: breakfast, walk the fences, dishes, laundry, lunch, walk the fences, check the traps, bring water up from the creek, dinner, walk the fences, sleep.

Shane never offered any information about his former life: where he'd come from, who he'd been with after things got bad, none of it. He was a muted shadow of his former self, and he knew it. Nothing seemed to break through that toxic fog of his past. But Shane did develop an indulgent fixation on learning everything there was to know about Melanie. She'd tell stories about saving lives or chasing after her dog or growing up in New Jersey, and when she spoke, Shane was able to get lost in it. He'd even smile, every so often.

They didn't sleep in the same room now that Shane was up and about, and one morning he awoke to an empty house. This wasn't their routine at all, and panic hit him like a bucket of ice water. He stormed through every room, shouted her name, then grabbed his machete off the bedside table and charged into the yard and out through the fences.

He got a quarter mile towards the creek, the only landmark he could readily identify, and spotted one of their water buckets laying discarded on the forest floor. There were a half-dozen walkers ambling towards him, but all he could see was white hot rage. He charged at them with a war-cry at the back of his throat, slashing and jabbing until they were a pile of decayed flesh at his feet. He eyed one beast that had once been a man. Most of its face was missing, and Shane bent forward to finish the job. He stabbed it through the eye once, and then again and again. And he couldn't hear anything but the blood pumping in his ears and all he could thing was _fuck them just fuck it I'll fucking kill you fuck this fuck_—

"Shane, stop!"

Melanie had managed to sneak up on him unaware, and he froze mid-thrust. He jumped to his feet and clambered right over to her, looking her over once before throwing the small girl over his shoulder without a second thought.

She kicked at him and voiced her displeasure the short walk back, but he didn't release her until they were safely inside. He threw his knife to the ground and moved to tower over her.

"What the fuck were you thinking, girl?" he snarled, "Can't just be taking off on me like that. Coulda been _killed_. It's fucking stupid is what that was…"

Melanie was wearing a dark tattered dress that fell down past her knees, and in one motion Shane ripped it off over her head. His hands fluttered over her body, spinning her roughly and touching every inch of skin he could find.

It took her a moment to surpass the shock and realize just what was happening.

"Shane I'm not bit!" she exclaimed, "Or scratched. I'm fine."

He spun her again to face him, simultaneously walking her back until the pits of her knees hit the edge of the bed and she was forced to sit.

Shane didn't hold her down, or move towards her straight away. He gave her every opportunity to escape. But when ten seconds had passed and all Melanie had done was stare at him fixedly, he leaned forwards and immediately latched his mouth to her clavicle, sucking hard.

His mouth was all over her body, moving from pleasure point to pleasure point with the expertise of someone who'd done this a million times, but the look in Shane's eyes told Melanie that there was more to it than that. He looked desperate, almost afraid. But any analysis of the moment was brought to a screeching halt when Shane tore her panties off of her body and pressed himself against her heat tongue first.

Melanie arched off the bed as if she'd been struck by lightning, and Shane's tongue just kept writhing against her, never slowing or softening its assault, until she was shaking in his arms and shouting his name as she came with a jolt. She looked up at him with a contented smile as he rose to his feet, eyeing the heavy outline of his erection through his jeans. But before she'd so much as managed to catch her breath, Shane had fled the room, and she heard the bathroom door slam shut.

He was already panting as he jerked open his fly and slid down his jeans just enough to get a hand around his aching cock. The doorknob jangled briefly, and Shane knew Melanie was on the other side, probably confused as fuck. But he couldn't let her…couldn't touch…he just _couldn't_. If he was going to be someone else now, someone who didn't get sucked into that psychotic cycle of anger and possessiveness and fear, then this was how he'd start. Shane could give to Melanie, without taking for himself. _He had to_. Or else he'd hurt her too.

Hand stroking fast over his cock, Shane leaned his forehead against the door. He could still taste her on his lips, still hear the way she'd moaned his name echoing in his head, and that was more than enough to get him going. Shane's breathing was fast and haggard, and in the emptiness of the cabin, he knew she could probably hear it.

"Shane," she said lowly through the wood, but he heard her clear as day. "Shane, open the door."

"Can't," he gasped, when hearing her voice sent a very sudden bolt of arousal down his spine. "You know I can't."

But did she know? Maybe not, when all signs pointed to her believing that she'd managed to rehabilitate him over the last few days, though she didn't know from what.

"You can't let me touch you?" she asked tentatively, and when the only reply was his heaving breaths she said, "I want to, though. I want to touch you Shane. The way you touched me."

She heard him groan from behind the door, and the slick sound of flesh on flesh.

"I'd make it good for you," she told him in a breathy voice, and _fuck_, why did she have to be like this? So wanting and brazen and testing every ounce of control he was fighting so desperately to hold on to. "I could make you feel so good, Shane. If you'd let me."

Pleasure shot up from the balls of his feet, and Shane was grateful for the first time ever at his sudden lack of stamina. One of his hands thumped against the door, and his body began to shake.

"Melanie," he whispered, and his cock jerked in his hand. "Fuck, _Mel_."

Moaning, he came all over the door, and his hand. He rapped his forehead against the wood and took a moment to catch his breath. Eventually, he tucked himself away and haphazardly wiped his seed from where it had spilled, chucking the towel into the corner. When he finally opened the door a crack, Melanie was waiting right there.

She pushed past him into the room and jerked her head towards the toilet, insisting without words that he sit down. When he did, she kneeled in front of him with a damp washcloth, and began to systematically wipe away the blood that was still caked onto his knuckles and forearms.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, while she worked.

"What for?" she prodded, never looking up at him.

"Yelling at you. Didn't wanna scare you."

"You didn't," Melanie scoffed, smirking in confusion. "It takes a lot more than that to scare me, Shane. I've got thick skin…Is that the only thing you're sorry for?"

He eyed her beseechingly. "You didn't stop me," he pointed out.

"No, I didn't. But you stopped me."

"I had to," he replied firmly.

"You had to?" she repeated slowly, catching his eye.

"Yeah," he murmured, nodding quickly and hoping she'd leave it at that.

She did.

TWDTWDTWDTWD

Melanie never pushed him about it, after that. He touched her more, brushing her hair out of her eyes and leading her by the small of her back and massaging the base of her neck. But never the type of touches that he could feel back; they were all for her.

Shane would take her at least once a day, though take wasn't the right word, because all he'd do was give. He'd give her his tongue and lips and fingers until she was coming all over him and moaning his name. And then he'd either take care of himself, or not, but never with her present. Mostly, he'd lock himself in the bathroom, or stumble blindly out onto the porch. And nearly always, Melanie would talk him through it. Her voice could get him closer now than his hand ever had alone. And he'd never tested it, but he suspected that if she whispered those dirty things in his ear for long enough that he might even be able to come untouched.

They were living, more than surviving, but only by a hair. Between the canned goods in the cellar and the traps they'd set outside, they had more than enough food to keep themselves going for a few months. And as far as either of them could tell, the walkers didn't enjoy hiking this far up the mountain.

Even so, it only took Melanie a couple weeks more for her acceptance of their predicament to waver. She was changing Shane's dressings, carefully checking over the scabbed-over wound in his side. And with Shane sitting shirtless on the bed, and Melanie kneeling in front of him, her hands quite abruptly migrated from his waist up to his collar-bone as she rose, and then firmly planted themselves in his short locks. Her lips were centimeters from his, and she leaned forward for a taste, but Shane jerked away like he'd been scalded.

"Shane," Melanie sighed, disappointed and frustrated to see the man squirming under her gaze.

"You know I can't, you know _we_ don't—" Shane tried, but he cut himself off when he realized all his excuses sounded similarly pathetically. How was he supposed to explain to her that this was for her own fucking good?

"Is it because of this?" she asked, grazing her fingertips over the scab turning-scar at his side and making him jump. He shook his head defiantly, refusing to answer.

"Shane, _who stabbed you_?"

He jerked his head up at that, looking more pained than she'd ever seen him, and that included mid-surgery. It took him a minute to answer. "My best friend."

"Rick," Melanie supplied, and when Shane cocked an eyebrow at her. "Sometimes you'd call for him in your sleep. Or when you were half-awake. In a lot of pain."

Shane nodded. "You gotta understand, when all this happened, he was dead. Was in a coma after getting shot on the job, and I went to the hospital when shit started to get bad and I couldn't hear a heartbeat. So I rounded up his wife and kid and I got them the hell out of there. I _had_ to. For him."

He took a shuddering breath. "_She_ came onto _me_; it wasn't the other way around. Kept sayin' that she was scared and she needed someone and...when Rick came back, all of the sudden I was the fuckin' Devil to her. Like I'd planned it all out to get her in the sack, or somethin'. Said that whatever we had didn't mean nothin' no more. And I was gonna leave, couldn't stand to watch her with the only person I didn't want to hate. But she asked me to stay. A few weeks later I found out she was pregnant- and it was mine, had to be mine. That changed things."

Melanie was sitting beside him on the bed now, with one of his hands in her lap. She massaged his knuckles reassuringly, thrilled to finally have some sort of explanation for his mysterious entry into her life.

"She told Rick about me and her, right around the time she told him about the baby. But then she comes and tells me that even if that baby's mine, it'll never be mine. Rick made it clear he felt the same. And man, it shouldn't have hurt so damn much that he took her side. Shoulda known it wouldn't even _occur_ to him that she'd fucked me up, that it hadn't all been _me_. But I...I almost killed him. Couldn't though...and then he stabbed me."

At the end, Shane watched her out of the corner of his eye, half expecting her to spit out all of Rick and Lori's hateful words right back at him. _This is your fault. You're making me do this. You lied to me. You betrayed me._ She didn't say anything, and Shane felt the inescapable compulsion to continue.

"I nearly raped her once. It was after Rick came back, and I was drunk, but I came pretty fuckin' close. She had to fight me off. Just couldn't wrap my head around it, ya know? One day she's saying she loves me, and the next she tells me I'm the scum of the Earth. Never had a girl jerk me around like that. Hell, most of the time, I was the one doing the jerking. Guess I couldn't handle being on the other side of it." Shane scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Worst part was, even that didn't snap me out of it. Nah, I kept on believing she was mine right up until Rick stabbed me. Was only once I got out here, got my head clear of her, that I started to figure she probably never cared about me at all. It was a survival tactic, ya know? Hook up with the biggest baddest man you can find, so he'll protect you. S'exactly what she did- went straight for the Alpha. Then when Rick turned up again and he took charge, she jumped right back into bed with him. I bet when he told her what happened, she didn't even bat an eye. Bet she told him he did the right thing, killing me."

"You figure Rick thinks you're dead?" Melanie finally asked- her first contribution since he'd started unloading his baggage.

"If stabbing me didn't do it, gotta figure he woulda known leaving me out there was a death sentence. So, yeah. Pretty sure he thinks I'm dead, and that he's the one who killed me."

"Shane…"

"That's what you don't fuckin' _get_, Mel. I ain't good. I've killed people, you hear me? People I didn't have to kill. People I never shoulda had to kill. Once to save Rick's kid, but the next to get Rick alone in the woods with me, so I could fuckin' shoot him. He shoulda finished the job…that's where he fucked up, see? Rick shoulda made sure I was dead."

"Shane, _stop._"

"No! You aren't getting it! I'm shit, alright? I'm absolute shit. Nothing good ever stays with me, because I fuck it all up! And if you stick around, I'll fuck you up too, Mel. I will; it's what I do—"

He was about ready to snap, to hurt her or himself or whatever the fuck he could get his hands on, but then Melanie launched herself at him. Soft lips sucked away every hateful word piling at the back of his throat, and he sat frozen underneath her, stunned into silence.

After a beat, she pulled away from him and smiled. "There. _That's _the Shane I want," she murmured, and ground herself down on his hard length for emphasis. As if he could_ help_ it, with the way she was moving around in his lap, drawing figure-eights on his skin. "I want the Shane from before. Not whoever the hell you're trying to force yourself to be. We've all done things, whether it was to survive or just because we wanted to. There's nothing wrong with you, Shane. And you need to bring yourself back, because I'm tired of this look but don't touch bullshit, and I'm tired of you acting like I'm going to break. _You can't break me_."

Shane's hips jerked of their own accord, and he watched her with blown out pupils and parted lips. One of his hands went to her waist, petting gently.

"Now fuck me like you mean it, 'cuz I'm not asking twice," Melanie growled. And then, something in Shane really did snap. But it was the right something.

Shane threw Melanie off of his lap and shakily onto her feet, jerking her towards him by the hem of her dress only to rip it over her head and chuck it into a corner.

"This what you want, girl? You want me to fuck you?" he snarled, crowding her backwards and up against the desk.

"Yes," she whispered softly. His eyes went black. Shane spun her around and shoved her forwards until her face hit the desk, shredding her panties in an effort to get them off before tugging open his own belt and unsheathing his leaking member.

"I can't hear you," Shane drawled, punctuating the statement with a sharp spank to her ass. She yelped in surprise, but then pushed back against him, making him grin. "You want this, then you best ask me good and proper, sweetheart."

"Fuck me. Shane, please fuck me. I want you," she moaned breathlessly, writhing across the flat plane of the desk when his hand found her clit and began to rub in slow circles.

"You want me to fuck you, huh? Want me to make you come so hard? Make you feel so good?" he groaned, slipping two fingers inside of her. "So fucking wet for me, baby. You want it so bad. Think I should give it to you?"

Crooking his fingers, he rubbed hard until Melanie was gyrating against his hand desperately. "_Yes_," she nearly sobbed, "Yes, Shane. _Please._"

"Fuck," he gasped, wrenching his fingers from her and guiding his own cock to her sopping slit, "You're so pretty when you beg."

Shane thrust inside of her without warning, and they both moaned loudly at the sudden spike of pleasure. And once he'd felt the tight clench of her hot, wet pussy around him, a slow build was no longer an option. Shane fucked her hard and fast, holding her down by the back of her neck and cursing with his head thrown back.

"Fuck, fuck yes. So fucking tight," he groaned.

He felt her begin to throb around him, and knew she was close. One well-timed thrust with a particularly spiteful blow to her creamy, pert ass, and Melanie was done for.

"Shane, fuck, _Shane!_" Melanie called out, trembling against the desk as Shane fucked her right through it, never slowing his pace an ounce.

"That's right, baby. Scream my name," he ground out, before abruptly pulling out of her and spinning her around to face him. Shane lifted her onto the desk and was sheathed in her wetness again before she had time to complain.

Seizing her opportunity, Melanie immediately grasped Shane by the ears and pulled his mouth into hers. It was their first proper kiss, she realized belatedly. But even though it was fueled mainly by lust, composed of thrusting tongues and sharp nips and stifled moans, it signified a whole lot more.

"Fuck, Mel," Shane groaned against her. "You like my cock, baby? Is this what you wanted?"

"Yeah," Melanie gasped as Shane rocked into her with blinding intensity. "Want you like this. Want you raw. The real Shane."

That seemed to be what he needed to hear. He jerked against her in movements that were ferocious and biting, sneaking a hand between them to rub her spot as they both plummeted towards bright, hot release.

"Give it to me, Mel," Shane demanded, fingers working furiously over her swollen clit. "Show me how much you want me, baby. Show me how good I make you feel."

Like a bitch in heat, Melanie came on demand, wrapping herself around Shane as her entire body shook with the force of it.

"Holy shit," Shane moaned against her neck. Her body was pulsing around him, and he couldn't hold on any longer. "Fuck, Mel. God, _Mel_."

He lifted her up off the desk at the last moment, plastering her to his chest just as his body seized up in wanton pleasure. She heard him whimper into her ear, noises he'd never made during sex before, _not once,_ before collapsing over her. Chest heaving and arms shaking, he rested his forehead against hers and groaned his way through the aftershocks.

The calm after the storm was cathartic, relief so pure it hurt after so many weeks of trying to deny himself. When his muscles twitched back to life, Shane swept Melanie into his arms and tucked them both into bed, wanting to relish the bliss just a little bit longer.

"You're not getting rid of me now," Shane said after a long, peaceful while. "I'm here. You want me gone, you're gonna have to kill me."

"S'that right?" Melanie murmured into his chest. "Well which Shane am I talking to? It makes a difference."

He huffed out a breathless laugh. "The only one, now. Think you just fucked all the crazy right out of me. Or back into me. Whichever."

"Real Shane's back then?"

Shane paused a beat and took a quick inventory over his body. He felt good, better than he had in months, and a hell of a lot better than he ever had with Lori. All that pain and resentment and guilt was gone, or at least secondary to the honest warmth he couldn't help but feel whenever Melanie was around. Maybe there was something fucked up in him, or maybe it was all about perspective. But either way, Mel wanted the lot of him, and he wasn't about to deny her.

"Yeah," he drawled, "Real Shane's back. And you best rest up, girl, 'cuz he's gonna want to fuck you senseless again in about ten minutes."


End file.
